


Liminal Space

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Upon Request [5]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Incest, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Puppy Play, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Watersports, mentions of scat, musk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 12:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Jackson's in a shitty motel just off the highway, looking for a little strange. Meeting a couple of hunters gives him the rough trade experience of his life.





	Liminal Space

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was created for a prompt given to me over on [my tumblr](http://www.drivenbyadevilshunger.tumblr.com). If you'd like to request one of your own, head on over and take a gander at all my works.

It’s easy to just let go, because there’s no way anyone would believe— there was no reason for him to be out here. Jackson Whittemore in a shitty motel off the highway was as much of a tall tale as Bigfoot himself. So it sorta worked that, in this liminal space, Jackson was faced with the one and only. Or at least, that’s what his hot, slutty older brother had called him. 

“Whatcha got there, Sasquatch? Thought you were past bringing in puppies from the rain?” They’d been so intimidating, out on the edge of the woods. Tall, strong, unconcerned. Few people watched him flash his eyes, bare his teeth, and simply snickered. 

Edge of night, the eerie yellow light coming from bug infested bulbs painted them like something out of a horror novel. Shadows across faces, the shine of metal at their belts. There had been a space between him and them— the difference between the trees and the back of the building. There was a dumpster, some pinecones, an oversize puddle where the concrete had buckled. 

Animal instinct said run. It said you’re a wolf— they’re just men. It said no thing really lived in a cage, even if it still drew breath. It said he had only one shot. But that was the advantage of only being half a wolf, of existing as something that was born between the flickers of a street light. 

So he put away the claws, crossed the divide himself. A car sped by, every few minutes, tires throwing water across the pavement. If only they slowed down, they would see. But the hot glow of the neon sign said no vacancies and so there was no chance of any of them pulling in. 

Jackson could hear the clamor of a couple folks, local drunks, just beyond his vision. A diner, quarter mile down the road. If any of them stumbled into the trees for a piss, a fuck, dumb luck that drew them nearer. But the brothers didn’t seem much concerned with that. Not when the pretty one was petting his face and the sasquatch was undoing his buckle. 

Rough trade was what Jackson had been looking for. Rough trade was what it seemed he was gonna get. Them being hunters only made it better. Hands in his hair, knees on the blacktop. The rain was soaking through his jeans. “Be careful with him, baby, don’t know if the bitch bites yet.” 

Jackson gave them a growl, half because it’s what he thought they wanted, half because he just liked to stir the pot. Big brother groped Sasquatch’s ass, rough and possessive. Jackson wondered how long that had been a thing between them, but decided not to ask, as fingers were pushed past his lips, roamed around his fangs, depressed his wagging tongue. “Oh, Dean. No need to worry, he’s clearly been clipped.” 

Jackson rankled his nose, flashed his eyes, and then was slapped in the face by a soft cock. Sasquatch was hung, but almost like a teenage boy at odd ends of his growth spurt. Cock so long he could suck it himself if he wanted, but slender. Bush untrimmed, but not naturally very dense, uncut— unwashed. Jackson sniffed at the mouth of it and they both  _ grinned _ . 

Big brother pushed those worker’s jeans right to Sasquatch’s knees and started playing with that ass in earnest, gripping the cheeks and kissing all along his sibling’s relaxed shoulders. Jackson’s rambunctious growls turned to whimpers when the big guy rolled his head back, started swapping kisses, and doused him in bitter piss. 

They had to have been on the road for days. Clothes covered in engine grease, grime under their fingers. Jackson’s sensitive nose could pick up the difference of days without washing— old sweat matted into new, making this musky cocktail of grunge that was all mountain man. He lapped at the dark liquid, let it splash into his hair, nuzzled deep into that damp bush that promised warmth, even if it was rank. 

Shitty, slow country warbled from a radio. It might have been the front desk clerk trying to stay awake. Might have been someone parked, truck door open, up the same no-good at they were. Jackson did his best to ignore the twang, the plucked strings, put a little too much teeth against the big guy’s balls while he was lapping up sweat and got his own stomped on. 

He yelped, then moaned. Both brothers raised their brows and then he was tossed on wood pallets, stacked alongside a dumpster. A few planks splintered beneath his weight, but they didn’t slide or topple. Big brother took out a knife, the kind a guy with a small dick would buy. Blade all big, useless serration on the back. Jackson had already seen the pretty princess gun and wasn’t much surprised, didn’t even flinch when it was put to his dick, already knowing it was just his clothes looking to be cut open. 

“Not your first, huh jailbait?” He almost seemed impressed as he ripped at denim, took a sniff at silky calvin klein’s before tossing them near a storm drain. Jackson just rolled his hips, spread his freckled thighs, fluttered his wet hole. He actually got taken in mouth for a few moments, big brother’s first true surprise as he gobbled at Jackson’s cock only a fellow cumslut could. “Fuck, love the way teenagers taste.” 

Jackson’s nipples pebbled in the cold, his balls drew up. But then there was a warm foot— long and soft and stinking. Sasquatch was done waiting. He pinched the head of Jackson’s cock between his toes, spread the skin of his nuts with his heel. Jackson got them planted against his chest, smeared across his face. Ball in his mouth, nails scraping his hole. Sour and swampy and soaking with his saliva, then Dean’s. 

Much as he tried, Jackson couldn’t quite pin the relationship. Big brother owned that ass for sure, but also loved to suck down spunk, worship calloused heels. Though it didn’t seem to matter much when long, hairy toes were jacking him off while a slobbering tongue licked every inch of flesh between indiscriminately. Jackson was close and it was good, too good. 

Surprise didn’t even flicker when Sasquatch pulled back and kicked him in the nuts just hard enough for his orgasm to falter. Precum still spat from his dick, but his boner shrivelled, just a little. “We gotta both have our fun first. Dean’s got something special for you, don’tcha?” 

Jackson’s eyes were still a little spun, but it wasn’t hard to know it was an ass hovering over his head. It stunk, more than Sasquatch’s manly, campy funk. This wasn’t a boy’s being boys smell. This was filth— fetish. “Guy that cleaned me last didn’t do a very good job. Been living skids in my shorts for days. You gonna disappoint me too?” 

Jackson’s stomach tightened, his hands shook. This was more than visiting a local rest stop because he didn’t wanna come out yet. This wasn’t going to city clubs because the boys there bumped uglies easier. This was fucking animal. 

This was a place he didn’t know he was going tonight, but he’d already stepped through that door. This place only existed in the night. This place was built in the subconscious of your brain. This place was that fragment of a dream so vivid it woke you from your sleep, but then melted out of your memory as soon as your eyes were open. 

This was the place where Jackson got his cock jacked off by some guy’s dirty feet and ate shit from his brother’s ass. All three moaned. All three writhed. There was the crunch of feet not a hundred yards away, the static of a television left on, tire treads grinding to a slow halt. 

He’s not sure who came first. He’s not even really sure what happened after. He remembers his shirt sticking to his chest with sweat. He remembers that dirty, pungent taste on his tongue. He remembers shooting so much cum he was worried he was actually pissing himself. 

He kissed somebody, sucked on their tongue and shivered when a slow drawl whispered words into his ear. He’s got clothes on that are a couple sizes too big. There’s hickeys on his pale skin and a styrofoam container with cold eggs sitting on the shitty table in his room. 

He takes a shower, eats the scratchy toast, returns his room key. The sun is out, the clouds are a lighter color, and there’s people all chatting amiably in the parking lot. It looks like any old place someone could stop by— that local dive that’s cheap and easy on your way to some amusement park. 

Jackson would swear he never stepped through that veil to somewhere else last night, but as he gets in his spotless sports car, he feels something tucked into the oversized jacket that was left on his shoulders. Black leather collar, supple and well worn. Jangling tags with two names on the back, a phone number to call and return him to. Seems the boys couldn’t help from giving him a good home. 


End file.
